


Perfecting Canadian-American Relations

by bluelinespecial



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelinespecial/pseuds/bluelinespecial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You forgot, didn't you?" Brian asks, though it's not really a question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfecting Canadian-American Relations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my LJ in September 2012—I'm working on some fic added here before I start posting new content.

The sun works its way through the slats of the blinds and right up against Brandon's closed eyelids. He groans and turns his head into the pillow, inhaling deeply. The sheets are new and still smell that way; there's not much of his or Brian's scents in them yet.

Coming back to New York this year, having spent a summer mostly apart and not sure they could even bother pretending to maintain separate apartments, they decided to to suck it up and get a new place together. The weeks leading up to training camp were spent searching for a nice two-bedroom that allowed pets and could, to the untrained eye, be the swinging bachelor pad of a couple pro athletes.

Brandon smiles to himself. A couple weeks into the season now and the second bedroom is filled with extra furniture from their original apartments that they haven't found places for in the new one. Buried under it all is Brandon's old bed, which they hope will someday be the centerpiece of a guest bedroom. The living room is the best furnished, their two couches working surprisingly well together—or maybe it isn't so surprising, since everything about them has always worked well together. Their bedroom is mostly the California King that his giant boyfriend needs to fit comfortably, along with a nice big walk-in that holds all of their clothes (though Brandon has plans to have Brian amongst the suits and ties someday).

They'd bought the sheets before a trip down to Florida and Carolina, and finally now they are home and starting to break these sheets in, and Brian's not in bed with him.

Brandon opens his eyes fully and immediately pouts. "Bri?" His voice is rough from sleep and last night's blow job, just how Brian likes it best. He reaches over and pats the space next to him, finding rumpled, cool sheets utterly devoid of a warm body.

He rolls to his back and sighs, looking up at the ceiling, then calls out again. "Bwiiiiiiiiiian!"

"Just a sec!" comes a return call from somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door. "And stay put!"

Brandon likes that idea, likes staying put in this comfy, huge bed with sheets that probably could use another wash yet, but first they need another round of sex and sweat and come. Maybe two rounds.

He adjusts the pillows under his head, expecting Brian to return shortly, maybe with a couple mugs of coffee they can leave to grow cold at their bedside tables. There's a skate later, Brandon thinks, and he thought he heard some of the boys planning to do dinner tonight, but these sheets are begging for harsh treatment, and he's very much thinking that it's the best possible plan for the afternoon and evening.

"You weren't supposed to wake up yet," Brian says, still through the closed door. "I was gonna surprise you." The door swings open, and instead of a couple cups of coffee, there's a tray with a covered plate and the most amazing smell wafting in, pulled in Brian's wake, held in when Brian kicks the door closed again.

"What?" Brandon sits up more, looking at Brian with confusion, and his boyfriend laughs softly, putting the tray down across Brandon's lap.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Brian asks, though it's not really a question. He pecks Brandon's lips and sits on the edge of the bed. "Not that I'm surprised, you always lose track of days in the season. Forgot your own birthday this year."

Brandon blinks. "S'not your birthday." He tries to make that a statement, but Brian's right—he's shitty at dates, and though he's pretty sure it's only October, and that Brian's birthday's in December, and he's not _that_ bad....

"No." Brian lifts the cover from the plate, and Brandon finds himself staring at two very orange, very maple-leaf-shaped pancakes, and a side of Canadian bacon.

"Happy Thanksgiving," says the murmur in his ear; there's a kiss to his temple, and then everything clicks in Brandon's mind.

"Oh, shit, that's today?" He turns and looks at Brian, who's got a stupid, lopsided grin on his face, a little bit pleased with himself but mostly happy with Brandon's reaction. "How the fuck did _you_ remember, Mr. Thanksgiving Has No Business Existing Before Halloween?"

Brian laughs again, then crawls over Brandon's legs, moving to his other side so there's more room to sit and press against him. "Clearly because I am the greatest boyfriend in the world. Also because I put a reminder on my phone." He ducks in and nips at Brandon's ear lobe. "And finally because Del Z and Staalsy and Richie and G and whoever else were bitching on the plane yesterday that our schedule didn't put us in Canada today."

"That is pretty shitty," Brandon mutters, still staring down at the breakfast in front of him. "I bet we're somewhere in the US for Second Thanksgiving, too. Typical." He points at the pancakes. "Why are they orange?"

"Because they're pumpkin pancakes," Brian says, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe he's right.

Brandon finally looks away from the food and smiles at his boyfriend. "Thanks, baby. This is a great surprise."

"Eat up," Brian urges, giving Brandon a quick kiss then gesturing to the food. "I timed it so there's time to eat and get you to make your 'O Canada' face before we shower and head to the rink."

"Oh my God, you just _said that_ ," Brandon says, shutting his eyes tightly. "What was I thinking, moving in with an American?" He opens his eyes again, looking at Brian fondly.

"Not a clue," Brian says, laughing more. "I think DZ tried to warn you."

Brandon picks up the utensils and starts digging in, not at all surprised to find that the pancakes are delicious. "Shamefully, I think it was the sex," he reasons. "And that you can cook." He stuffs another bite in his mouth and chews, nodding. "And you're not awful to look at, either."

"Stop," Brian says, deadpan and with a soft snort, "you're making me blush." Brandon lifts a forkful of pancake up to Brian, though, and he accepts the bite with a grin.

"Seriously, thanks," he says again, taking his turn to lean over and kiss Brian, taking advantage of his boyfriend's impeccable manners to be able to kiss his closed mouth as he chews. "Best Thanksgiving morning ever."

"Just morning?"

"Still a lot of day to go, and I've had a lot of great Thanksgiving afternoons and evenings," says Brandon, smirking with his tease. "So I hope this isn't all you've got planned...."

"Just shut up and eat." Brian gives his shoulder a half-hearted shove, then rolls to the side to push himself out of bed. "And eat fast, because Kingly's been making eyes at me all morning and I promised him your leftovers," he adds, opening the door. There's the sound of nails on wood, and the soft jingle of tags, and Brandon knows that the dog's definition of "leftovers" is far more generous than his humans'.

When Kingly ends up trying to lick a bit of bacon out of Brandon's beard and Brian ends up laughing hard enough he gets a stitch in his side, Brandon has to admit—to himself at least—that there's not much else Brian needs to do to make this the Best Thanksgiving Ever.


End file.
